


As You Wish

by jumpinglamps



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Chris isn't really in this fic, Fluff, I think this qualifies as service top anyway, Lingerie, M/M, PWP, Service Top, Yuri Katsuki spelled with one u, he's just mentioned, trans!yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpinglamps/pseuds/jumpinglamps
Summary: Victor comes home wearing a surprise for Yuri. They're both saps and in love.Not a shred of plot here.Do not repost my content anywhere, including unofficial 3rd party apps.





	As You Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Was originally going to save this idea for Yuri's birthday but I have no self control.  
Non-beta'd

It's a fairly standard night in for Yuri: video games, some kind of salty snack (a cheesy chip Victor bought ages ago that Yuri ended up eating nearly all of—a new bag mysteriously appears in their pantry every few weeks, despite Victor not caring much for them himself), and Yuri’s favorite blanket. Chris is in town for a visit and Victor’s been hanging out with him most of the day, so Yuri’s had the apartment to himself. He’s gone on a run with Makkachin, partly to give her some exercise and partly to be able to say he’s left the house at least once, but otherwise, Yuri’s been glued to the couch. After playing through a dungeon in _Diablo _and a bandit cave in _Skyrim_, he’s moved on to _Breath of the Wild_, is contemplating grinding a bit before his next boss fight when he hears the telltale signs of Victor coming home.

Rattling keys, shuffling feet, and Makkachin pokes her head up from its spot on Yuri’s lap. She hops up and wiggles her way to the entry, her barks and Victor’s coos echoing off the walls.

“Welcome home!” Yuri calls. He's almost at a good save point. Just a couple more minutes and he'll be good to—

Then Victor rounds the corner and Yuri makes the mistake of glancing up at him from the corner of his eye and he hears Link die on the screen in front of him like a distant thing—maybe falling off a cliff or something. He can't bring himself to care. His mouth is dry, hands instantly dewy with sweat and Victor just smiles, a sweet innocent turn of glossy lips, like he didn't just walk in and steal the breath from Yuri’s lungs.

Hot pink silk, so bright it's almost fluorescent, yet still effortlessly classy, clings to Victor’s frame in the form of a cocktail dress. It's a halter, held together with thin cords at his throat that makes him look even taller, more elegant than he already naturally looks. His shoulders seem to glimmer in the light from the entry way, all gold and sparkling. Everything he's wearing matches the dress perfectly because of course it does. His shiny painted nails, his lipstick, his spiky heels.

Yuri, in his tattered sweatpants and old, coffee-stained t-shirt wonders faintly how he’s allowed to exist in the same room with such a beautiful person, let alone _look at him_. Then he realizes he should probably say something.

“You— You look,” he smacks his lips. Nope, not a full sentence. Try again. “P-Pret— You—”

Victor’s smile widens, nearing predatory if not for the loving sparkle in his eye, and he moves a few steps closer. Slow, calculated; the fabric of his dress bunches and smoothes out with his movements and Yuri can feel the neurotransmitters in his brain fizzling out.

Who needs words? There’s not a single word that could accurately describe the emotions flickering through him as he looks at Victor looking like _that_.

“Like what you see?” Victor drapes himself effortlessly across Yuri’s lap, one elbow resting on his shoulder, his other hand carefully tucking a bit of hair behind Yuri’s ear. Yuri blinks, devotes every last bit of his remaining brain power to _not _passing out.

Deciding that talking is a bit beyond him for the moment, Yuri nods. Too enthusiastic—his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose with the motion. He moves to push them back in place and notices with his fingers first, his eyes a beat later that the dress has a long slit up the side that spans the entirety of Victor’s thigh, all the way up to his hip. Just at the end of that slit is a little bump, the bump of a tiny, baby pink ribbon tied in a bow. And Victor, Victor just smiles, watches the realization dawn across Yuri’s face, a bloody sunset blooming in his cheeks, all the way down to his neck.

Victor plays with the neckline of Yuri’s t-shirt, likely wondering if Yuri’s flushed down to his chest yet. He doesn't say anything, just toys with Yuri’s shirt, his hair, his ears, all with gentle fingertips. Waiting Yuri out, like the benevolent god that he is.

Yuri takes a deep breath, inhales a heady combination of flowery perfume and _Victor_, then takes another. Miraculously, he finds his voice, though it comes out more croaky than he’d like. “What's the occasion? I feel underdressed,” he hears himself chuckle, a little lightheaded.

A kiss is pressed into his cheek and Yuri feels the tacky slide of lipgloss, knows there's likely a bright pink mark left behind when Victor pulls back with a hum. “Occasion?”

“Well, you, you look so…” Yuri’s mouth hangs open, as if in invitation for intelligent words to fly in and make their way to his brain. Victor takes the invitation instead.

He pulls Yuri’s lower lip between his teeth with the gentlest of bites, stretches it out and lets it go. Yuri realizes his hands have found places along Victor’s back and thigh when they clench into the slippery material of his dress. He quickly slackens his grip—wrinkling The Dress feels wrong, sacrilegious even.

“Do I need an occasion,” Victor leans in, lips dancing by Yuri’s ear, “to dress up for my wonderful,” a kiss by his ear, just under his glasses, “handsome,” another at his jawline, “adorable,” soft on his forehead, “_beautiful _husband?” Victor takes his lips in a slow, wet kiss before Yuri can flounder around another response. Their lips stick and slide with little wet smacking sounds and it's addicting, kissing Victor like this.

When Victor pulls back, his lipstick’s smeared a bit outside his lip line, and Yuri can't help it when he whimpers, can't stop his fingers from digging into cool slick fabric.

Victor toys again with the hem of Yuri’s shirt, “And for the record, love, I think you're _over_dressed.”

Yuri agrees; that sounds sensible. His clothes are inadequate anyway, why bother keeping them on? His shirt is lifted over his head and he's temporarily blinded when his glasses are again knocked askew. It's almost comical, getting stripped so methodically, backlit by the distant glow from the entry and the vivid red “Game Over” letters on the TV. Distantly, he's aware of Makkachin slurping at her water bowl, of the Switch controller sliding off the couch and onto the floor. But it's difficult to focus on much of anything, being so incredibly turned on, so willingly at the mercy of the most beautiful man in the world.

The silk of Victor’s dress feels somehow electric against Yuri’s bare chest, which could of course be due in part to the exploratory finger drawing little shapes along the meat of his chest, around a nipple.

“How would my Yuri like to be spoiled tonight?” Victor murmurs, pulling a shiver from Yuri with his fingernail, coasting from his chest to the top of his sweatpants.

Yuri’s answer is automatic, easy, “I want whatever you—”

The finger stops his lips from completing their sentence.

“You're not getting off that easy,” Victor squishes Yuri’s lips around with his fingertip, mirth in the turn of his own stained mouth.

Just that small silly gesture grants Yuri enough boldness to wrap his lips around Victor’s finger, to pull it deeper with his tongue and the gentlest of sucks. Victor’s eyes widen and he leans in almost thoughtlessly, as if Yuri were a magnet and Victor, a helpless paperclip.

He savors the taste of that finger like hard candy, pulls it in even deeper until Victor gets the idea and starts moving it on his own, pulling it out and pushing back in. It's a barely-there kind of feeling, the soft taste of Victor on his tongue, the smooth, shellacked nail dragging across the roof of his mouth. He wants more, but frustratingly, Victor pulls it free from Yuri’s lips with a _pop_.

Some of Yuri’s petulance must show on his face because Victor chuckles and kisses Yuri’s nose. “Adorable,” he breathes.

“I wanna…” Yuri pets across the smooth fabric of the dress, “I wanna see what's under your dress.” His voice comes out nearly a whisper, like he's sharing a secret.

Victor hums, “Will you help me take it off?”

He takes Yuri’s hand off his thigh and places it at the back of his own neck, where Yuri can feel a little silky button connecting the cords at the top of the dress. He holds his breath, wondering if this small, delicate button might be the only thing holding the dress up and in place.

Fingers trembling, he frees the button, and the dress slouches down Victor’s chest. A bit of something lacy, a peek of ribbon, all the same shade of baby pink as the bow at his hip are just visible where the dress slouches down under his armpit. Gracefully, Victor slides off of Yuri’s lap and lets the dress fall into a fluorescent puddle on the floor.

If Yuri wasn't already hot and squirmy in his sweatpants, he certainly is now. Lingerie, all that same delicate shade of baby pink: the lacy bones of a corset, stretched between sheer pink fabric, starting just under Victor’s dusty pink nipples, ending with a slight flare a hair above a set of shiny silk pink panties that are _far_too tiny to conceal Victor’s half-chub.

Before Yuri can even begin to take the sight in, Victor spins, showing off the intricate pink strings lacing up his back and revealing that yes, the panties are in fact a thong, ornamented with a little pink heart that frames the top of his ass. Of their own accord, Yuri’s fingers run, reverent, over the bumps of the strings, smooth over the little heart to the soft skin of his ass. Victor arches his back to fill Yuri’s hands, a cat basking in Yuri’s undivided attention, taking what it wants. Yuri leans in at the invitation, his forehead resting at the small of Victor’s back as his hands wind around to find Victor’s front. Greedy, he soaks in the feeling of lace stretched over warm skin, tugs just the littlest bit so Victor stumbles back a step, close enough for Yuri to pull him into something resembling more of an embrace.

Victor hums and Yuri knows he’s smiling. He chances a smile himself, tucked into the frilly lace at Victor’s back. He feels along the lines of the corset, up to the frilly lip of the garment. The skin of his chest is so warm, so soft under Yuri’s fingers. He drifts along the top of the lace until he feels the bump of a nipple, pausing there to gently massage it until it pebbles under his fingers. Victor squirms a bit in Yuri’s hold and Yuri wants more. He finds the other nipple with his free hand and pays it the same attention, and Victor’s whining, pulsing under Yuri’s fingers, a harp, vibrating as Yuri plucks its strings.

Yuri presses kisses into Victor’s plush ass, soft, unhurried. Victor is wonderful, beautiful, he's everything, and Yuri wants, needs Victor to know. Needs him to feel just how much he's loved, how important he is, how entirely irreplaceable he is. He rubs his hands, open and gentle from Victor’s chest to his middle and hugs him again, tighter this time, smushing his face into Victor’s back.

“Victor…” he murmurs, and his voice comes out a little rougher than he expected. Victor spins in Yuri’s arms so they're facing each other again. Ever so softly, he reaches down to run his fingers through Yuri’s hair, cups the side of his face and holds him, gentleness crinkling his eyes and pulling his lips, his seductive veneer melting into what Yuri can only describe as unbridled adoration.

“Victor, I want to… Can I…” it's still so difficult to put his desires into words sometimes. And Victor is impossibly patient. He pulls one of Victor’s fingers back into his mouth and meets Victor’s gaze, pleading, hoping he understands.

And Victor does. He guides one of Yuri’s hands to the front of his silky thong, where he can feel how stretched the fabric has become, can feel Victor warm, twitching at the contact. “I'm yours,” Victor whispers.

Yuri releases Victor’s finger with a little moan and diverts all his attention to the task of freeing Victor from his panties. He pulls, careful not to overextend the fabric, until the flushed head of his cock bobs uninhibited. He darts forward to kiss the tip and drags his lips down the shaft, feeling Victor’s breath hitch above him. With his lips, he follows Victor’s skin all the way down to the base, until his nose and forehead press into the lace of Victor’s corset, trim silver hair tickling his cheek.

Victor’s so unbelievably _cute _like this, eyes on Yuri, dilated in anticipation, flushed skin contrasting so prettily with his frilly pink lingerie. He wants Victor wrecked, speechless.

He draws back, drops one more gentle kiss onto the sensitive head and pulls it between his lips. Victor’s breath stutters out as Yuri slowly envelops him. His fingers mindlessly card through Yuri’s hair. His nails are soft, almost like a comb, and leave Yuri’s scalp feeling tingly. He sucks and lets his tongue play at the slit, gauges how Victor feels by the twitching of his fingers in Yuri’s hair. Yuri takes his time, lets Victor sink into his mouth deeper, bobs his head with the slowest of movements. His own fingers grip Victor’s hips, rubbing little soothing circles into the warm skin there.

It's intoxicating, feeling so surrounded by Victor, by the warmth of his skin, his scent, his breathy encouragements, his fingers. Everything that isn't Victor fades away, and Yuri focuses on the taste of him, the weight of him on his tongue. His awareness of his own movements dims—moving with Victor feels so innate, so very natural. It's easy to respond when Victor’s fingers clench and smooth in his hair at the right movements, when the pitch of Victor’s voice tells him how hard to suck, where to play with his tongue.

He doesn't stop until he feels a desperate little tug at the back of his head. Victor’s close. As appealing as it is, the idea of Victor coming down his throat, it doesn't seem to be something Victor wants. So he pulls back, feeling a little cross eyed and foggy as he looks up to find Victor’s face.

And _oh_, he's just as wrecked as Yuri hoped he’d be. His pupils have almost entirely swallowed the blue of his irises, pink smudgy mouth slack with heavy breaths. Victor’s whole body seems to shiver with his every exhale, fingers trembling out their excess energy in Yuri’s hair. Deciding that Victor needs a moment, Yuri leans in to rest his head on Victor’s stomach, continuing to rub those little circles into his hips.

It only takes a few breaths before Victor’s collected himself enough to get his hands steady, petting absently at Yuri’s hair. His cock is still hard and wet and extremely lickable, but Yuri refrains.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Victor?” Yuri pulls his gaze away from Victor’s beautifully red cock long enough to make eye contact. Victor’s smiling like he's holding back a laugh and he brushes Yuri’s bangs out of his face.

“Today isn't about what _I _want.” He chides without any real heat behind the words.

But Yuri plays along, a little petulant when he says “Well then, _I _want you to fuck me.”

And that about does it. Some of the softness burns out of Victor’s expression, returning that predatory gleam to his grin. The fingers in his hair grip just tight enough to pull and Yuri’s head is tilted backward. A thumb brushes under his lifted chin, “As you wish.”

Yuri sheds his underwear, the last vestige of his loungewear, at Victor’s request and is unceremoniously scooped into Victor’s arms with the littlest of grunts. The little pink panties and neon heels are kicked off somewhere along the way to their bedroom; Yuri makes a mental note to pick them up later before Makkachin can have her way with them. He's tossed onto the bed with a bounce. A blur of movement at the nightstand in his peripherals, and Victor is climbing on top of him.

This is _exactly _what Yuri wanted. Wrapped up in a frilly beautiful blanket of Victor, Victor’s body lowering to rub against his own. The softness of the lacy corset against his own nipples sends little jolts of pleasure down his spine. He reaches blindly to grab at Victor and finds his face, angles it down to his own. Their kiss is hot, a complete mess and Yuri only makes it messier. _Need _burns deep in his belly, hips rocking up to try and get some sort of friction between his legs. A hand reaches between them and _rubs _at his crotch with an open palm. Yuri gnaws at his lip, trying to choke back an embarrassingly needy whine.

“Do you want to come?” Victor’s voice is low and filthy by his ear. Yuri didn't realize before this moment how much he wanted, _needed _to come, to just get a little of this energy out of his body so he can properly enjoy Victor fucking his brains out.

He nods, frantic, clutching at Victors shoulders, at the laces of his corset, “Please.”

Victor’s chuckle is low and lovely. He kisses along Yuri’s jaw, lips following down the lines of his throat. He latches on, right at Yuri’s pulse point, where he's most sensitive. Yuri squirms, gasps when Victor pulls his palm away only to return with gentler fingers. They drag along the lips of his folds, prod and rub at his cock. It's electric; Yuri feels like he's being eaten alive.

It doesn't take long at all, Yuri being so close to the edge already. The rubbing of slick fingers, firm and steady, the lightest of pinches to his cock and Yuri’s orgasm shakes through his body. Victor coaxes him through it with insistent fingers, holds Yuri down with his mouth, still latched securely onto his neck.

Victor lets him come down gently, turning his harsh hold on Yuri’s neck into soft, open kisses, sliding his hand from Yuri’s crotch to his thigh, petting along his skin. Yuri breathes into Victor’s hair, watching little silver pieces flutter with his sighs.

A lube cap pops, then slick cool fingers press against the pucker of his ass. A question. Yuri hugs Victor closer to him, close enough for their chests to press flush against each other, to feel Victor breathe with him. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I want it.”

Victor’s eager, not moving as slowly as he normally would. Just a few thrusts of his fingers, enough to spread the lube around. Then he's pumping himself with a bit more lube and shoving a pillow under Yuri’s ass. Yuri can't say he minds: he wants to feel more, wants to see Victor lose his mind.

The first push in is slow, careful, as it always is. Yuri relishes the stretch, doesn't even remember to bite back his voice and moans, open-mouthed. It’s a bit tight, but it’s easier to relax with his last orgasm still warm in his bones. He's just barely aware of Victor breathily chanting, “Yes, beautiful, yes,” and then Victor’s bottoming out, trembling in effort to stop himself from moving again too quickly. Yuri runs his hands along Victor’s shaking arms, up the lace on his torso.

“Can I…” before Yuri even gets his question out, Victor’s nodding his assent.

So Yuri finds the strings between Victor’s shoulder blades and pulls. The corset comes loose and slouches between them, laying partially on Yuri’s stomach. And Yuri’s never found Victor’s ribcage so very erotic before, the way it heaves with his breath, the way his stomach muscles jump under strain. He's so _so_very beautiful, and Yuri can't help but touch him.

Victor sighs at the feeling of Yuri’s hands on him. His hips stutter against Yuri’s ass. Yuri lets his hands drift up Victor’s body, so warm, so lovely, and finally stops at his face, framing Victor with his hands in the gentlest of holds.

“I'm ready, Victor.” Yuri murmurs.

A little smile, a shuddering breath. Victor turns his head to kiss Yuri’s palm. There's just enough pink left on his lips to leave a little mark on Yuri’s hand—he's going to have to ask Victor where he got this lipstick.

Then, slowly, Victor moves. A careful sway of hips that draws shudders from both their bodies, punctuated by a sharper slide in. And another pulse, just as slow. Yuri can't seem to keep his hands in one place; they feel along the flexing muscles in Victor’s arms, the lines of his throat, his chest, his back, his shoulders. The more Yuri moves, the quicker Victor moves. His hips snap with more force, less precision. Victor’s flushed to his temples and breathy.

“So beautiful, Yuri, Yuri, lovely,” Victor’s eyes lock with Yuri’s and Yuri feels so trapped, so safe, so surrounded. Wordlessly, he whines and pulls Victor closer, moving his own hips up to meet Victor’s thrusts.

The sounds of them, coming together, breathing, whispering each other's names fills the room. Victor’s corset, trapped between them, rubs against Yuri’s skin, pushes up to rub at his more sensitive chest.

“Harder,” Yuri whispers, “Victor, please, more.”

With a little “yes” Victor leans out of their embrace to push his corset out of the way and grab Yuri by the backs of his thighs. He pushes Yuri’s legs up to his chest, and the stretch is wonderful. The pace Victor sets is punishing, amazing. Yuri can't even hear his own breathing anymore over the sound of their skin slapping. He's hitting so _deep _at this new angle.

Yuri can't form words, just whines and scrabbles at the bedsheets. He thinks another orgasm pulls through him at some point, but it's difficult to parse from the overwhelming feeling of Victor inside him. Perhaps it's all one big, never-ending orgasm, maybe he'll never stop coming.

“Yuri,” Victor’s voice is urgent, high-pitched, just like he sounds when he’s— “Close, _please_, Yuri.” Victor bites his lip, his pace getting erratic.

Mindlessly, Yuri nods, manages to murmur “on me.”

It takes a concerted effort to not complain when Victor pulls out and lets Yuri’s legs down on either side of himself. He takes Yuri’s lips in a quick, sloppy kiss, as if in apology, then sits up, balancing himself with a hand by Yuri’s head. He hovers over Yuri, keeping his gaze and pumping himself between them with his free hand. It's so very intense, and Yuri can feel Victor’s body heat, his breath, seeping into his own body. He can feel a throb at his ass, the ghost of Victor still inside him.

With a gasp, Victor comes on Yuri’s stomach, his chest. Shakily, he presses one more kiss to Yuri’s cheek (Yuri suspects he’d been aiming for his mouth) and collapses on the bed next to him. Victor pulls him close, heedless of the mess on his front and rests his lips on Yuri’s temple, noses lazily into his hair.

They stay tangled with each other as they come down, murmuring lovely nonsense and giggling about nothing.

Eventually, their heart rates slow, feeling returns to their muscles. Yuri gets the first shower and Victor goes to collect his scattered garments. Yuri makes them a proper dinner when they trade off, humming to himself as he works. He wonders absently about Victor’s outfit, hoping they haven’t stretched it out or ruined it in their activities. He’d very much like to see Victor wear it again sometime. Maybe even try it on himself, see if it fits.

“What are you thinking about, _Yu_ri?” Victor’s hair is still wet when his chin falls on Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri’s cheeks pink and he hums noncommittally, knowing that that will only spur Victor on.

And it does; Victor pulls Yuri in by the waist and nips at his ear. “I've already bought one for you, you know,” he murmurs. Something warm coils in Yuri’s gut at that.

“Maybe you'll get to see me wear it on your birthday then,” Yuri bites back a smile.

“My _birthday_?!” Victor whines and collapses against Yuri so quickly that he stumbles a bit. “That's so far away.” He's pouting, and it makes Yuri’s heart swell.

He ruffles Victor’s hair and laughs, feels Victor smile into his shoulder. Giddy happiness blankets him, curling into his toes and fingers, warm and bubbly. Every day, he thinks as the last of his giggles leave him, he’ll get to laugh like this with Victor every day, forever. And the part of him that believes he doesn't deserve this happiness gets smaller and smaller with each passing year, replaced, impossibly, with more love than he ever imagined himself capable of.

When it gets to be almost too much, when it overflows, all he has to do is whisper a little “I love you.”

And Victor will always smile with the softest crinkle to his eyes, all traces of his previous pouting abandoned as he responds, “Love you more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
